<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>The Virgin Mary of Fallout Alley by TwinIvoryElephants</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25254301">The Virgin Mary of Fallout Alley</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwinIvoryElephants/pseuds/TwinIvoryElephants'>TwinIvoryElephants</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Gone Series - Michael Grant</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AU where Astrid is divinely impregnated with the gaiaphage after Little Pete's death, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Attempted Sexual Assault, Drake is a misogynistic creep, Grief/Mourning, Magical Pregnancy, References to Menstruation</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 05:54:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,218</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25254301</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwinIvoryElephants/pseuds/TwinIvoryElephants</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Ashamed and alienated after Little Pete's death, Astrid exiles herself to the desert...but not before showing signs of the impossible: pregnancy. When Drake appears, proclaiming that he is to be her protector, she can't believe her misfortune. Takes place after PLAGUE.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Virgin Mary of Fallout Alley</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tea_Market/gifts">Tea_Market</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This fic was very much based on an unpublished fic by Tea_Market inspired by this AU.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Astrid stared dully at the glass pipe in her fingers. She hadn’t lit it yet, hadn’t inhaled the sickly sweet fumes that would allow her to sleep in peace. She’d never smoked anything before, never mind marijuana—but in the last week she’d been languishing here in the middle of the desert, she needed any peace of mind she could muster, even if it was artificial. Even if it sometimes made her nauseous and reminded her of when she had morning sickness. </p><p>She vividly remembered her fingers clinging to the cold, unforgiving porcelain seat of the toilet as she heaved. Then, while sweat cooled on her forehead, she got up on shaky legs and trudged back to her bed. More than usual, she’d wanted Sam there with her; she’d wanted to feel his warmth. She wanted to be comforted. Alone, she’d wait, wide awake, until early dawn light filtered through the windows. Then, she’d get up and read in the houseboat’s living room, aching for Sam to come out of his bedroom and ask what was wrong.</p><p>But how could she tell him her fears, when they were so stupid? So biblical? Sam would think she was cheating on him—or he’d think she was crazy.</p><p>Now, there was no chance of alleviating her loneliness. That would require going back to the lake, back to civilization, and Astrid couldn’t do that yet. In the end, she hadn’t told Sam after all. She felt too ashamed. </p><p>Astrid relaxed on her sleeping bag, flicked open her lighter, and lit up. She inhaled deeply, resting her hand on the swell of her stomach. If she focused, she could feel it moving beneath her skin. It felt delicate. Delicate and sensitive and dark. </p><p>She quickly pulled her hand away. Every once in a while, she got the morbid urge to check the movement patterns of the growing thing inside her. Astrid knew she should cut it out—it was rapidly becoming a compulsion.</p><p>Between smoking weed, sleeping, and rationing food and water, Astrid had nothing to do but think. As time passed and the swell of her stomach grew inexplicably larger, her thoughts turned more and more to the idea of getting rid of it. Passing it, like a kidney stone. She tried to think clinically, but she knew she was kidding herself. She couldn’t hide behind euphemisms—she had to face it.</p><p>She was thinking of aborting the baby growing inside her.</p><p><em> It’s not a baby, </em> she thought. <em> It’s the Darkness.  </em></p><p>But she didn’t know that for sure. She was extrapolating based on little evidence; she’d be acting based solely on a hunch, on feelings. If she was wrong….</p><p>But how could she be? She was still a virgin. It had to be the FAYZ working its terrible magic. The same phenomenon that forced a cat and book into unholy union and made coyotes speak was now turning its foul attention onto her, forcing her to incubate the Darkness’s human likeness against her will. It fit with the pattern. It was the only conclusion that made sense. </p><p>As she continued to inhale, the tension in her muscles leached out of her. It was soon replaced by a sense of lightness; her mind was becoming pleasantly fuzzy and unfocused. She now understood why Howard’s business was booming, she often thought when the weed started hitting. As she put out her pipe and lay down on her sleeping bag—it was too humid to crawl inside—she took a warm sip from her nearby canteen and closed her eyes.</p><p>The tent flap rustled.</p><p>Astrid’s eyes snapped open. Ice flooded her veins, and her mind scrambled to keep up. What time was it? How long had she been asleep? She jumped to her feet and grabbed the shotgun sitting nearby, slotting shells into its empty chamber with the butt of the stock sitting on her left thigh. She kept her eyes on the tent flap the whole time. She wondered if it was just a stray animal. As the rustling grew more animated, Astrid cursed herself for not keeping the gun loaded. Better to accidentally shoot herself than be killed by—</p><p>A tentacle wriggled underneath the tent, lifting it. Early morning light flooded her vision, making her blink. Before Drake could reach her, she jumped back and fired. She missed—Drake, shaggy blond hair covering his dirty, sneering face, leaped forward and struck. His whip lashed around the meat of her thigh. She bit her lip hard, trying not to yelp. He dragged her leg toward him in a flash.</p><p>She aimed at his face and fired; his whip jerked her leg out from under her, and she spilled to the ground. She rolled quickly onto her back, gun pressed to her chest, almost on instinct. <em> The baby, </em>she thought, then hated herself for thinking it.</p><p>“Hey, Astrid,” called Drake in an easy drawl. Her last slug had hit him in the cheek; it was just a flap of skin hanging by a thick fleshy string. Blackish-red blood oozed from the wound, staining his teeth with red. She tried to roll over, but it was too late. His grin grew wider, more sharklike. </p><p>“Looks like Sam finally did the deed, huh? Where’s your good Christian morals now?” His voice dripped with sneering delight. </p><p>Astrid fired at him again. Blood splattered his shirt as a bullet pierced his ribs, but Drake didn’t seem to care. He moved until he was standing over her. Astrid’s arms quivered as she lifted the shotgun again. She only had three more bullets.</p><p>“Go ahead,” Drake said. “Shoot. It’s no skin off my nose.” She could see his cheek knitting itself back together already, flesh absorbing the fallen blood. Astrid didn’t know what to do. She clutched her shotgun, lips thinning into a firm line. </p><p>“You can waste those precious bullets of yours,” he said. “Or, you can come with me.” He, incredibly, unwrapped his whip from around her leg and offered her his unwashed hand. Astrid sat up, blinking. This had to be some sort of trick. Drake was going to kill her, or hurt her so badly that there’d be practically no difference. But...if she could make him believe they were fighting on the same side, if only for a short time….</p><p>“It isn’t Sam’s,” she blurted. “I’m still a virgin.”</p><p>Drake laughed. “Who gives a shit? The Darkness doesn’t discriminate.” </p><p>Astrid tried to swallow the lump in her throat. So it was true. She wasn’t crazy. It wasn’t a phantom pregnancy.</p><p>“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m not here to kill you. From now on, I’m your loyal protector.” His eyes were cold, but Astrid couldn’t detect any hint of insincerity, sarcastic tone aside. Heart pounding, she ignored his hand and got to her feet by herself.</p><p>“Now walk,” he said. “Or you know what you’ll get.” His whip twitched, in the air by his side. Astrid nodded, keeping her emotions guarded.</p><p>Drake made her walk in front of him. He didn’t let her take her shotgun, naturally. Or, to her bitter surprise, her hiking boots. </p><p>“If you want your feet to stay nice and smooth, you’ll walk fast,” he said, jerking his chin in the direction of the rising sun. She glared at him, but he just smiled.</p><p>It wasn’t so bad at first. The sun wasn’t yet risen, the sky still a milky, early morning blue. Astrid marched, feeling Drake’s whip lick at her heels every few minutes. She could also feel him leering at the small of her back, her rear, her thighs. Revulsion curled coolly through her chest and stomach, but she kept her head high, her shoulders squared. She tried, despite the rough sting of the sand on her bare feet and the growing heat of the day baking her shoulders, not to let Drake’s presence get to her.</p><p>Back at Coates, she’d had her last period. Her head was pounding with thoughts of the murder of a helpless child and dark burping of menstrual blood was happening at the worst possible moment. It was a rush that began when the Human Crew threatened Little Pete. It came in trickles, then, not yet darkening the rain-soaked white of her nightgown.</p><p>It was only when she and Orc had arrived at the academy that she realized. It was when Orc had asked her, low with constrained rage, if Zil or Turk had hurt her. He had looked with wide eyes at the scarlet drops rolling down her inner thighs—and Astrid realized the retroactive emphasis on the word “hurt.”</p><p><em> Did they </em> hurt <em> you? Down </em>there<em>?</em></p><p>It made her want to cry and laugh at the same time, his concern. She’d assured him, in a distracted, shell-shocked way, that no, she was fine, she was just—she couldn’t say it, not to him, not to a <em> boy</em>.</p><p>She’d flown to the bathroom upstairs and scrubbed herself clean in the bath, cold water spurting from the rusty spigot, after pushing Little Pete onto the nearest bed. There she lay, blood blooming from between her hips, sullying the clear water. She lay with her heart pounding in her head and her lips trembling uncontrollably, feeling like everything was spinning out of control and that it was all her fault, but she could—<em>had</em>—to fix it, and the only way to do that was to muster up her courage and…. </p><p>Just thinking about her sin—she couldn’t think of it as anything but, even now—made Astrid feel a gray cloud of depression descend. It was the same dull, horrible ache of regret that had dogged her ever since she’d first escaped Lake Tramonto, only occasionally eclipsed by fear over what to do with the pregnancy. </p><p>She slowed her steady pace, and felt Drake’s whip snap, stinging, at her heels. “Walk!” he demanded.</p><p><em> I killed Little Pete. </em> The repetition of those words never dulled—they were always horrible and stark and pitiless. In Astrid’s mind, they were lit up in bright neon like the letters of a roadside sign, in bright, accusing red. <em> I killed him in cold blood. </em></p><p>She remembered looking at his sleeping form merely an hour before his death. His fever made his face red and snot glistened beneath his nostrils.</p><p>Astrid tried to look at him and feel something. She only felt anger, resentment. She tried to look at him and feel nothing, tried to make him seem like a stranger. </p><p>She couldn’t do that, either.</p><p>Astrid’s lungs suddenly sucked in hot air as she felt the horrible, lancing pain on her shoulders, then just above her backside. It was Drake’s whip, she realized, dully, through the pain.</p><p>“Walk!” Drake thundered. He suddenly grabbed her by the shoulders and whirled her around. Astrid blinked at him, stunned. Her shoulders and the small of her back radiated with fresh hurt. Drake’s eyes were glittering and dark. He wasn’t grinning anymore. Instead, his mouth was twisted in a sneer of revulsion. His eyes flicked briefly to her belly and breasts before moving back up to her face.</p><p>“Walk faster, or I’ll do it again,” he threatened. His whip undulated in the air. </p><p>Something in Astrid’s face must have angered him further, because he snarled, sounding almost excited, “Oh, my God! You think you’re still hot shit!” He cackled. Astrid’s face slackened. Seeing that, Drake continued, “Oh, no. You don’t get to take it back now. Put that smug, prissy look back on your face.” His eyes glittered. “Come on, Astrid the Genius. Lemme see it.”</p><p>Astrid swallowed. Drake was itching to hurt her; she could see it in his eyes. He would look for any excuse. It wouldn’t help to do what he wanted. </p><p>Drake bared his teeth. “Guess that empty, stupid look is pretty fitting,” he snarled, “coming from a pregnant whore in men’s shorts.”</p><p>Astrid said nothing. <em> He’s trying to get me to react. He wants a show</em>.</p><p>Her skin crawled. Sweat was beading on her forehead. She tensed, waiting for the whip. <em> If I run, it will only be worse. </em>She could just see the strips of skin peeled away from her body, everywhere but her precious swollen stomach.</p><p>But it didn’t come. Instead, Drake stalked closer to her. He put his hand on her belly, caressing the sticky thin fabric of her sweat-soaked tank top and the skin below. Astrid froze. She could feel herself breathing heavily. Drake’s eyes flicked up to her own as he stroked. His eyes were dozy with heat and something else, something more sinuous and wanting. Something that Astrid was familiar with. </p><p>It was the look on Sam’s face when she wouldn’t let him go any further than caressing her breasts.</p><p>It was the look she’d seen once on Orc’s face, his eyes crawling clumsily over her body back at Coates. She’d felt fear then, knowing his size and strength and monstrous visage would enable him to act on his lustful thoughts regardless of her cries. She felt a similar fear now, made murky and confused by the fact that she housed something Drake so worshiped.</p><p>But Drake grabbed her chin with his fingers and pulled her face up. He searched her eyes, malevolent and angry and dark. She could feel his hot breath on her skin.</p><p>Then, his mouth came down on hers, so sudden that Astrid didn’t have time to react. His lips were firm and clammy-cold, suffocating. He forced open her mouth with his thick, dry tongue. She felt his nails dig into the flesh of her jaw as his hand tightened. For a moment, their teeth clicked together. Then, Astrid wrenched away, eyes wide. She tasted iron.</p><p>Drake looked at her sullenly, not speaking. He seemed almost a little unsettled, strands of shaggy hair lifting in the hot desert breeze. “Walk, slut,” he growled, trying to sound menacing and failing by a hair. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, as if he’d tasted something disgusting.</p><p>Astrid swallowed the blood in her mouth and obeyed. She didn’t speak. She kept her lips tightly closed, though she wanted to retch. Her skin crawled. Drake’s mouth was so <em> cold</em>.</p><p>The sand was burning her feet all the way now, but that wasn’t her main worry. Astrid now had to dodge Drake’s attempts to further enhance her so-called whoredom; she supposed the subtleties of divine issue and virgin births were lost on him, at least as far as his hatred of her was concerned.</p><p>But, to her relief, he seemed to have lost interest, been suitably chastised by whatever passed for shame in his mind. He skulked behind her, lashing out with his whip whenever she got at too comfortable a pace. </p><p>Astrid touched her stomach again, missing her half-full canteen dearly—it had been left at her camp, naturally, since Drake had no need to eat or drink. The texture of her throat was like dried jerky, rough and brittle. She smacked her lips often, pining for the lonely gray fountain near the lake where she’d gotten her water. It had kept her leash short, but it was reliable. Now, though, she didn’t know when Drake would let her drink. She still, after at least two hours of plodding through hot sand, didn’t know where they were going.</p><p>It wasn’t long before Drake took the lead, whip lashing languidly in the hot desert air. Astrid was relieved to be free of his gaze for a time. It was maybe an hour after that when they came across a spring. “We’ll rest here,” he said abruptly. Astrid fell to her knees and drank from her cupped hands, cool water spilling between her fingers.</p><p>He sat down nearby. Astrid continued to drink until she’d had her fill. When she dipped her feet in the water of the spring, she hissed at the pain. She then rested against some dry, scrubby foliage, catching her breath.</p><p>Drake was watching her. He slunk closer to her resting spot. “The Darkness wants you,” he said slowly. </p><p>“What?” Astrid was wary.</p><p>“The Darkness. It wants <em> you</em>,” he repeated. “It wants to show you you’re not so high and mighty. Bring you down.” He grinned. “I suggested it be you, you know. The vessel.”</p><p>Astrid moved backward, awkward due to the size of her stomach. Drake was sidling closer, his eyes dark, mouth set. His whip came up and flicked across her chin, almost playful.</p><p>“You think you’re so pure,” he muttered. “But you’re not. Look at you. Knocked up just like any other whore. Astrid the good girl’s not so good anymore.” His voice was soft, lilting. His whip slid down past the square neckline of her tank top. Astrid gasped as it alighted on her skin, giving her goosebumps. It caressed her breast, soft and slow. Drake’s eyes were intent, bright with pleasure at seeing her squirm. She grit her teeth, feeling a burst of revulsion and fury. Something hot uncoiled in her chest. </p><p><em> He’ll hurt me anyway. </em> She couldn’t stand much more of this horrible, skulking assault from her worst enemy, the boy she wanted more than anything to be dead and gone.</p><p>Heart racing, Astrid grabbed the whip, slapping it away with as much might as she could muster. She then jumped to her feet. Drake did the same, eyes livid, rearing back to whip her across the face. </p><p>Then, something happened. Astrid felt the hot, uncoiling rage inside her concentrate; her stomach seemed to horribly pulse and throb. Astrid opened her mouth and roared—she knew that if she stopped, she’d simply vomit. </p><p>Drake’s eyes were wide, his whip frozen in the air. Astrid the Genius was suddenly lifting off the sand. Soon, she floated at least two feet off the ground, her burned feet dangling, hair curling and drifting languidly against the hot blue sky.</p><p>Astrid realized she’d stopped screaming. Her whole body was rigid, radiating heat. She could feel hot wind gusting past her feet, cooling her soles. Terror and exhilaration made her heartbeat quicken. When she opened her mouth and spoke, it was strange and unnatural; her jaw dropped, her tongue worked stiffly, like she was a puppet being jerked around by an amateur puppeteer.</p><p>“YOU WON’T HARM THIS BODY,” the puppeteer boomed.</p><p>Astrid’s heart was in her throat, but the strange voice showed no fear. She put her hand on her stomach, almost by instinct; her skin was hot. She could feel the dark, malevolent thing moving, active, alive. Her eyes widened with a sick kind of horror. </p><p>Then she saw the look on Drake’s face. His eyes bugged out of his skull, his jaw slack. He looked fearful. A sweet sense of satisfaction moved through her despite her dismay; when was the last time she’d seen Drake Merwin afraid?</p><p>It had been too long. Astrid smiled widely and laughed into the hot air. The Darkness was inside her! Drake was at its mercy, and thus he was at hers. The thought filled her with cold joy. </p><p>“YOU WON'T <em>TOUCH </em> THIS BODY,” the Darkness thundered, emphatic, and Astrid felt a thrill at hearing her thoughts verbalized by such a powerful source. </p><p>Drake would have to listen to her, now.</p><p>The Darkness growing inside her would make sure of it.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>